


Coalesce

by orphan_account



Category: Almost Human, Heroes (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Identity Issues, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All John wants is for the shattered fragments of his life to meld back together. He doesn't want to be assigned to the perplexing Sylar case. He doesn't want to fall in love. And he certainly doesn't want the power blossoming within him. He just wants to go about his job with Dorian at his side, bug the shit out of Detective Paul and eat ramen. </p><p>The universe doesn't seem to care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was in the middle of writing another fic, then I saw this gif set on tumblr http://karlurbaninternational.tumblr.com/post/75956879236 and it demanded to be written.
> 
> This is actually the prologue, but as far as I know there isn't a prologue option, so... :P This takes place before the ambush!

**Chapter One**

An insistent buzzing sound drilled its way confusedly into John's troubled dreams, drawing him mercifully from sleep. He blinked his eyes open, letting them adjust to the semi-darkness of the room. Anna was still sleeping at his side, oblivious to the noise. Her left arm was thrown casually across his stomach and her head rested on his chest, soft even breaths tickling his skin. For the first time ever, the feeling made him slightly nauseous.

Stretching out his arm carefully so as to avoid waking her, he snagged his cell off the bedside table. He noted with irritation that the call was anonymous and the time barely past five a.m. His alarm wasn’t set to go off for another half-hour. For a moment he debated ignoring the call, then sighed unhappily. He disentangled himself from Anna as gently as possible and rolled out of bed, mumbling an apology when she stirred fitfully and opened her eyes. 

"What time is it, baby?" she murmured sleepily, propping herself up on one elbow. Her long dark hair draped across her chest. One of her breasts had slipped free of her nightgown and he glanced away, ignoring his body’s response. 

"Five," he said groggily. "M’gonna make some coffee, okay? Got a call."

"Alright. Don't even think about trying to make breakfast though. I’ll be up in a few minutes"

“I won’t. I promise.” He chuckled lightly in spite of everything as he padded down the hall to the kitchen. He accepted the call a second before it would have gone to voice mail. "Hello?" he asked tiredly, flipping on the light switch and blinking against the sudden flare.

"Am I speaking with John Kennex?" a strangely cultured voice queried politely.

"This is him," John said absently, pulling a container of coffee from the fridge and beginning to prepare it. Making coffee was one of the few things he was capable of achieving in the kitchen, thanks entirely to his expensive coffee maker.

"Very good. I do apologize for the early hour Mr. Kennex, but I wanted to catch you before you went to work. My name is Dr. Chandra Suresh.”

John grimaced. “Is everything alright?” he asked instantly, thinking that inSyndicate must have been up to something again. 

“More than fine, Mr. Kennex. I'm a geneticist and I've been working on a project concerning human genomes. I believe that you may play a vital role in the next stage of human evolution."

John's brows scrunched in consternation as he pressed the _on_ switch and heard the coffee maker hum to life. He leaned back against the counter and ran a hand through his already sleep-tousled hair. The man was obviously attempting to sell something… or Martin was pranking him. "Really? How do you figure that?" he asked, smiling a little when he saw Anna pad down the hallway to the bathroom. Her nightgown had ridden up almost to her buttocks and she smiled slyly when she noticed his eyes tracing her bare skin.

"As to that, you'd have to read my book. It's called _Activating Evolution_. I would like to email you a free copy, if you'd be so kind as to give me your address." His voice sounded extremely hopeful.

John bit back a snort of laughter. Did the man think anyone in this age of rapidly advancing technology-let alone a detective- would hand over their email address to just anybody? "That depends," he played along pretending to seriously consider it. "What kind of evolution are we talking about here? I like myself just fine, thanks." 

“If you’d read the book and then discuss it with me-”

Anna skittered into the kitchen then in a pair of jeans and t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Even dressed casually and makeup-free she was so beautiful John completely forgot about Dr. Suresh for a moment. She stood lightly on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth before setting about making them breakfast. Her minty breath reminded him of his own funky breath and kissed her bare neck once before heading for the bathroom.

_It can’t be true. It can’t. Please, God._

"-uman flight. Even cellular _regeneration_!" Suresh was gushing passionately into his ear.

"What about cellular regeneration?" John asked distractedly, perching himself on the lip of the bathtub.

Realizing that his audience had been less than captivated, the excitement bled out of the man’s voice so rapidly that John almost felt guilty. "I was saying that you may be one amongst thousands of individuals with the potential for any number of incredible abilities. It may be flight. Precognition. Cellular regeneration. Or perhaps something entirely different. I believe the traits that manifest themselves will vary depending on each individual's genetic code."

"Mmm, and how do I obtain my ability, Dr. Suresh? Do you have a special pill? A magic injection?" 

"Don't be absurd." There was a bite of impatience in the man's voice now. "If you have an ability it currently resides dormant within you, just waiting to be discovered. I can help you do that. All I’d need to do is take a blood sample and scan your brainwaves-"

The smell of frying potatoes wafted in through the open bathroom door, causing John's stomach to rumble embarrassingly loudly. "I'm not interested in whatever you're trying to sell me, Dr. Suresh,” he interrupted. “I'm sorry." He hung up with relief and promptly blocked the number. Yet as he brushed his teeth and shaved something niggled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach that felt a lot like apprehension. 

"Who was on the phone, sweetheart?" Anna inquired when he came back to the kitchen. Though she spoke casually, she watched him closely. "Do you have to go into work early?" 

"No, it was just a telemarketer." John grabbed a knife from a drawer, grabbed a couple oranges from the fruit bowl and began slicing them into eighths simply for something to do. The smell always reminded him of his father.

Anna snatched a slice from the table and ate it slowly while waiting for the potatoes to finish, the hand holding the spatula resting on her cocked hip. "What were they selling?"

John snorted. "Super powers, I guess." 

"Super powers, huh?" 

He stopped cutting the oranges and looked at her, something in her voice giving him pause. "Yeah. Some guy pretending to be a geneticist. A Dr. Suresh." He got that wriggling uncomfortable feeling in his gut again. He resumed his task, concentrating on it determinedly

"I studied genomics when I was in school," Anna said musingly. "Loved it." She shifted the potatoes aside and cracked some eggs into the griddle too.

"That sounds awful, to be honest." John smiled as the tension between them dissipated slightly. "Maybe he should have tried giving you his book instead of me."

"What's it called?" 

John cocked an eyebrow at her, wondering if her interest was feigned. "Activating Evolution, I think he said."

"Maybe you should read it," she suggested suddenly.

John tried to look at her face but she'd already turned back to the stove. "Why?" he asked, surprised.

"Because we'd have something new to talk about," she teased, turning back to him and kissing his temple.

"I have too much on my plate right now," he said, getting up to wash the stickiness from his hands. “Maybe after we've take down inSyndicate, I’ll have more time for reading.” John carefully avoided her eyes after that statement, paranoia sweeping through him suddenly. He wondered if he was reading too much into things.

Before he could become entangled in his own thoughts and suspicions, breakfast was ready. The strange call and Anna's inexplicably unsettling behavior over the past few weeks were temporarily forgotten in light of a good meal.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place some time after Straw Man.
> 
> I have no beta, so all mistakes are very much my own. :P

 

 

**Chapter Two**

The water drummed deafeningly loudly over John's head, drowning out all sounds and thoughts that didn't pertain to the constant drone of it. He leaned further into the spray from his place on the shower bench after soaping up his hair.

Eventually his eyelids fluttered open to watch the last suds of his shampoo swirl down the drain in an endless circular motion. He tracked the water's progress as if hypnotized.

Wetness trickled into his eyes but it didn't sting and he didn't attempt to blink it away or shake his sodden bangs from his forehead. Instead, his upper lip curled in an unconscious grimace and his eyebrows scrunched in concentration.

A breathless moment later something indefinable within John shifted; seemed to click into place. The water, which had been running clockwise, suddenly began twisting smoothly counter-clockwise.

The difference was scarcely perceptible, but John gasped harshly and jerked his head back as though pulling free from a trance. The movement caused him to slip sideways off his bench. His shoulder slammed hard against the slick tiles as he caught himself on the steel grab bar, his other hand clapping to the sliding glass door as his left leg scrambled to compensate for his missing right.

When he’d successfully hauled himself back into place he caught his breath and glanced down again. The water was flowing clockwise once more. Unease stirred in his chest and bile rose in his throat. He upchucked painfully down the drain, scrubbing his chin roughly with the back of his hand when he was finished.

He waited until he was entirely sure he was stable before stumbling from the shower. He sat heavily on the closed toilet seat and toweled himself dry quickly. His heart was beating much too rapidly in response to something that had probably been a trick of the light. His temples throbbed achingly in time with its staccato beats. Whether the pain stemmed from panic or his fierce concentration, he couldn't tell.

Shuddering hard one last time, he reached for his synthetic leg and snapped it into place with precision. He got up -frowning at the harsh _squeak_ that issued from his newish leg- and walked to the sink, hands reaching out to frame the bowl. He gazed at himself in the mirror for an interminable moment, searching for the change; the catalyst that was rearranging everything he thought he’d known about himself.

He didn’t appear any different on the outside. Same hair, eyes and worry lines. But ever since the damned eclipse that took place several months ago, he'd felt oddly off-kilter, shaky. He’d suddenly become a stranger in his own skin.

John shrugged off the bizarre, dark mood as he dressed and grabbed his keys, intent on going to Rudy’s and picking Dorian up early. The thought of waiting around his apartment with only his thoughts for company was becoming more and more unappealing with every passing second.

He would be alright again in a few weeks, he reassured himself. Everything would be just fine. This was only a rough patch. “I’m gonna be alright,” he said aloud as he set his lock-code.

 

*******

“About fucking time,” John murmured under his breath as Rudy’s car pulled up to the curb and Dorian stepped out, exchanging a few more words before he spotted John leaning on the precinct wall and ambled over to him.

"You're early today," Dorian stated, watching him carefully.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” John said gruffly, sipping at his fifth cup of coffee as he pushed off and headed for the main doors. Dorian followed at his heels like the faithful golden retriever John had never had.

“I was having breakfast with Rudy and you just _had_ to show up early for once and ruin it,” Dorian complained mildly.

That explained why they hadn’t been at Rudy’s place when John had stopped by. “You don’t eat,” he said inanely. “Come on, we’ve got to interrogate Tatlock.”

He wanted to get that over with as soon as possible. The man was hands down the stupidest criminal John had ever caught; one who took obnoxious pride in having helped dupe old ladies into buying industrial sized bottles of “age-defying” night cream as an alternative to invasive cosmetic surgery. Said cream -after several applications- tightened the skin so much that the consumers features were practically cemented in place. Also, Tatlock’s vocabulary appeared to consist of around twenty words at best, with the phrase “fuckn-a” in heavy rotation.

“Couldn’t sleep last night?” Dorian insisted.

“No,” he grumbled. “I slept just fine, thanks.” It was the truth but it sounded way too much like a lie. “Why does it matter?”

As they entered the squad room John smiled automatically and nodded to Valerie. _She was too good for me anyway_ , he told himself for the millionth time. Still, his stomach dropped with slow-fading disappointment.

“It doesn’t really matter. I’m just curious.” Dorian stood with his hands clasped behind his back and an inquisitive smile quirking his lips as John seated himself at his desk. He looked the very definition of attentive, but John saw the sparkle in those blue eyes that always appeared when Dorian was finding him extremely easy to antagonize.

“Listen. You complain when I’m late, and now you’re upset that I’m early. I can’t win,” he complained as he retrieved the information on Tatlock from the server and brought it up on his tablet.

“I’m not the least bit upset, John; _you_ are. You’re tense. And you've had way too much caffeine. You’re hands are shaking slightly.”

“Don’t even _think_ about scanning me,” John groused, jabbing his forefinger warningly at Dorian.

Dorian ignored him. “Maybe you shouldn't be early _or_ late. Why not try coming into work on time for once? That would be beneficial for both of us.”

“Hey, I could be on time if I wanted to. But I have a social life to maintain,” he lied.

“Really? You’ll have to clue me in on it sometime. Your dating profile has been inactive since I made it.”

John worked not to smile at Dorian’s mock offended tone and got to his feet, tapping him lightly on the shoulder with his tablet. “Come on, lets find out who this guy was working with. There’s no way he was acting alone.”

“We can agree on that. He has the intelligence of a malfunctioning MX,” Dorian said with faint distaste.

“Kennex. Dorian.”

They both stopped abruptly at the sound of Maldonado’s voice cracking sharply through the low hum of conversation in the squad room. She was beckoning them from her office door, looking practically ruffled.  
“You must be in trouble,” John jested to Dorian from the corner of his mouth.

Maldonado didn’t bother inviting them inside. “You’re off the Tatlock case,” she told them, barreling on before John could protest. “There was a homicide in one of the apartments off district 11. It’s a weird one. I’ve already transferred Tatlock to Detective Paul.”

An uncontrollable grin spread across John’s face at the news. “Ah, that’s just awful. I was looking forward to interviewing Tatlock again.”

“Yes. A most verbose young man. A pity we won’t have the chance to pick his brain some more,” Dorian agreed. John envied his poker face.

Maldonado raised an eyebrow at them, though she looked like she’d rather have rolled her eyes. “Just get over there and keep me posted. The crime scene’s already been cordoned off,” she told them before returning to her office.

“I’ve downloaded the location,” Dorian said as they left the precinct together. “I can send it to your GPS if you prefer.”

“What for?” John asked. “I’ve already got you. Just don’t get us lost, sparky.”

“I hate when you call me that.”

“That’s what makes it so appealing,” he shot back, spirits miraculously lifted.

Dorian simply shook his head at the sudden upswing in John’s mood, looking perplexed. John ignored the worry in his eyes. There were more important things to focus on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Sunlight filtered softly through the windows, giving the otherwise standard apartment kitchen an ethereal glow. A crystal dangled before one of them, casting refracting chips of brilliant color upon the yellow walls and cream-white floors. Well... mostly white now.

Bianca Karina's body was sprawled face-down upon the floor, limbs twisted at odd angles. A dark mass of drying of blood enveloped the tiles under and around her. It had succeeded in seeping into the crevices between the tiles, creating the startling effect of argyle veins branching out from her inanimate body. Her hands were clenched into tiny white-knuckled fists, glassy blue eyes wide with terror, mouth open in a silent scream. Her nightgown had rucked up her back in the fall, exposing her from the waist down and the bottom notches of her spine. 

The top of her head had been removed and dropped carelessly to the side, clumps of long, dark hair matted with blood clinging to it. Only a minimal amount of brain tissue remained within the skull, framed by more blood-matted hair. It looked obscene -almost pornographically so- against the scrupulously clean room.

There was a full pot of coffee sitting untouched on the counter and an unused pan on the stove. Judging by that and the tacky quality of the blood, she must have been murdered at around five am. 

John tore his eyes away from the carnage with difficulty, his previously upbeat mood entirely evaporated in the face of such grotesque violence. The fact that she looked like she was hardly out of her teens made it extremely difficult to detach from the crime and John caught himself grinding his teeth.

He stood from his kneeling position beside the body, synthetic leg giving an unpleasant screech at the motion. He silently cursed himself for leaving in such a rush earlier that he'd neglected to oil it.

Dorian stood on the other side of the kitchen by the window. His blue processing lights were still flashing. Growing tired of waiting passively for him to finish gathering information, John stepped carefully around the body and leaned against the counter by Dorian’s side. An unconscious grimace tugged at his features as he surveyed the crime scene from a new angle. 

The entire apartment had already been dusted for prints and DNA samples. All potentially useful items had been bagged and tagged. The only person still there aside from themselves was a guy from the coroner’s office, chewing placidly on his gum in the living room as he waited to collect the body. Two MX’s waited passively behind him, staring blankly into space.

"Can you determine what instrument was used to do this?" John asked Dorian quietly, folding his arms across his chest and nodding towards the body. "A laser of some kind?"

Dorian frowned. "Definitely not a laser. There would be scorch marks and the hair would be burnt. Honestly, I just don't know.” When Dorian looked stumped, John knew things were bad. 

“I hope the pathologist can hypothesize something useful.”

“She definitely died while her head was being incised," Dorian added, sounding almost defensive. “There’s no bruising around her neck and her skull doesn’t appear to have been fractured by any kind of blunt object.”

John had noticed that too, but his stomach turned at hearing his thoughts confirmed. The extra coffee was making him jittery. "This was done pre-mortem?" he asked mostly to himself, outraged by the brutality of it. His left foot tapped an irregular beat on the floor.

"I'm almost positive, John."

"Jesus," he hissed, running a hand over his face in agitation. “Did you find anything on her?”

“Lots.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Care to share it with me?” He failed at keeping the bite from his tone. “I’d really like to know.” 

Dorian’s eyes darted to the living room to make sure the coroner wasn’t eavesdropping and he lowered his voice. “She was born January twenty-fifth, two-thousand-twenty-six. She’s from Missouri, but moved here two years ago. She began attending the county college after obtaining her GED, but dropped out over three months ago after an alleged suicide attempt. Said incident was reported by her roommate. During that time she also quit her job as a waitress. Since then she’s been living here. Her parents co-signed the lease.”

“Any more info on that suicide attempt?”

“None whatsoever.” Dorian frowned, face lighting up again. “A short report was filed but it’s extremely vague. The police weren’t sure if it was a genuine attempt _or_ if her roommate simply overreacted. Karina never underwent a psychiatric evaluation in connection to it.”

“Then we might never know if it’s somehow linked to her death,” John muttered as his mind ran through the catalog of typical homicide motivations such as ‘pissed off ex-boy/girlfriend’ and ‘possible enemies’. Chances were neither would be correct.

“Would you like to interview the neighbors now?” Dorian inquired after a slight pause.

“Yeah. I think we’ve already done all we can here. Send in a report to Maldonado. I’d like a long list of names and numbers by the time we get back. _And_ an incident room.”  


“Already done. It’s gonna be a long day, man.” 

“Well, just think how great tomorrow’s gonna be. We get to see Dr. Foster!” He nudged Dorian’s shoulder on the way out of the kitchen, peeling off his latex gloves. They were still clean as he hadn’t had the stomach for picking up the oval shard of Karina’s skull and examining it.

“That man hates me. Even more than you did when we first met.”

“Don’t take it personally, he hates all synthetics. He likes you more than the MX’s though.” He nodded a silent affirmative at the coroner. 

“That’s a great comfort, John. Thank you.” 

Their fleeting attempt at lightening the mood fell embarrassingly flat, but neither of them mentioned it.

****

***

Sylar knew it was dangerous. Reckless and stupid to an irrational degree. But he was drawn by a desire as strong and toxic as the hunger that consumed him. He stood smack in the middle of a throng of people across the street from the slight commotion the police were engendering simply by their presence. He was far enough back as to go undetected by the officers, yet close enough to get a clear image of the goings-on. They were like tiny ants under his magnifying glass and they didn’t even realize it. How malleable and disposable they were.

They stood in small clumps talking softly and worriedly to one another, attempting to understand the means behind what they considered to be a senseless act of atrocious violence. Sylar knew that in approximately ten minutes (perhaps less) they would discover three other murders and conclude that the notorious “serial killer” from New York was playing in their backyard. He wondered, with a twinge of deep-seated annoyance, if they would assume it was the work of a copycat. 

They needn’t worry for long however. There were only three people left in the city that were on the list he’d taken from Chandra. Three more deaths and he’d be gone again. Maybe not forever, but for long enough that they’d be lulled back into the tedious mundanity of their daily lives.

When the coroner’s MXs finally wheeled the gurney out of the front door, body zipped carefully inside a black bag like a shroud, something inside of Sylar flinched minutely. The part of his consciousness that was still inhabited by sweet, unassuming Gabriel Gray. He pulled the collar of his jacket up to protect his neck from the cold.

_You’re special, Gabriel_ , his mother’s voice whispered in his ear, her constant mantra. _More than anyone can see. But one day you’ll show them all. Everyone will know how special my boy is._

The words brought him a level of comfort and assurance that they never had while he was just Gabriel. This was his destiny. His evolutionary prerogative. He didn’t have a choice.

It was almost noon by then and he was growing bored. He was about to turn away from the scene, go back to his hotel and try to gather intel on the remaining people on the list, when two detectives left the building. Interest renewed, he remained in place. In the lead was a dark-skinned man that looked vaguely familiar. Sylar thought he might be a synthetic. The other was... 

Sylar’s hands balled into fists and he forced himself not to flinch backwards and cross himself. He sucked in a now unnecessary breath of air and held it, eyes wide with shock as he studied the man. Unfortunately the distance was too great for Sylar to discern much about his current appearance.

Chandra had told him long ago, with the deepest regret coloring his voice, that John Kennex was in a coma. Since boarding the shuttle from Queens, vague plans had been forming in Sylar's mind of discovering which hospital he was at; taking care of him last. Kennex wouldn’t even have felt it. 

Paranoia swept through him as he watched Kennex and the synthetic speak briefly with the EMTs then make a beeline for their cruiser. Sylar’s confidence and superiority faded as he waited tensely for the inevitable. For Kennex to glance up and notice him, sense his presence. Know him for what he was. 

It didn’t happen. 

They drove off without so much as a hard look at the dispersing, chattering spectators; deep in conversation. His eyes followed the cruiser until it was out of sight.

Afterwards Sylar departed with everyone else; a shrewd wolf lost amongst the witless sheep. He turned down a random side-street, zig-zagging through the crowd, subtly using telekinesis to avoid bumping into anyone. It was best to go undetected for now.

Self-directed anger and fear of divine retribution warred sickeningly within him. It had been an enormous oversight on his part to have neglected researching Kennex before coming out here.

_This can’t be coincidence,_ he told himself firmly. That Kennex had woken miraculously from his coma and just _happened_ to now be investigating Sylar’s most recent victim? Considering the events Sylar had experienced, witnessed and precipitated over the last three months, coincidence seemed laughably unlikely.

He blocked his mother’s unintelligible, manic ramblings from his mind determinedly, focusing instead on his own self-assuredness. Assurance that stemmed from newfound knowledge of the workings of human nature and the universe. Things only he could comprehend. 

No. It couldn’t be mere happenstance, he deduced. It had to be fate.


	4. Chapter 4

The hours spent interviewing Bianca Karina's neighbors had been long, fruitless and painful. So painful actually, that being debriefed by Maldonado when they arrived back at the precinct felt like a real treat.

Seemingly in accord with the flow of the day all the people they'd interviewed possessed zero amount of useful information. They were, in fact, as useless as John had been expecting. Even the neighbor who had found Karina's body! He was some greasy cretin by the name of Josh Barton who'd noticed her door was open and decided to take a look-see. He had the slow, dim-witted mannerisms of an aging, droopy-eyed basset hound. John would have been deeply surprised (and grudgingly impressed) if he turned out to be their killer. Regardless of their misgivings, the kid was put on the suspect list. Numero Uno. A place of honor. They'd have to keep tabs on him and pull him in tomorrow.

Several of the other apartment dwellers had appeared to be drug addicts of some sort and rarely ever left their apartments, let alone chatted it up with non-acquaintances. The more run-of-the-mill inhabitants had only ever met Karina on occasion in the elevator. The majority of words anyone seemed to have exchanged with her were along the lines of "good morning" or "awful weather today". She hadn't been one for gossip apparently, and some of the older, chattier women —seemingly wounded by Bianca's unsociable behavior— made sly, rude comments concerning her intellect. They followed up those comments by letting it be known how profusely sorry they were that something "so awful" could have happened to that "poor, sweet girl".

Dorian had dealt with their ramblings with a patience bordering on saintly, more patience than John thought he'd be capable of summoning given a lifetime. He'd managed to come across as both imposing and charming at once. John reluctantly admitted to himself that it wouldn't hurt to try and emulate him sometimes. Stressing the  _some_  before times.

Now they were reporting the little they'd gleaned to Maldonado, standing in front of her desk like a couple of first graders proudly reciting a section of the constitution they'd memorized. She kept entirely silent up until the moment Dorian started in about three similar murders that had occurred in New York and that they may well be dealing with a serial killer. Maldonado held up her hand to silence his stream of information and proceeded, after a prolonged sigh, to drop the motherfucker of all bombshells on them like she'd been cradling it in her arms.

"The  _FBI_?" For once Dorian looked as stunned and horrified as John felt. He quickly regained his composure, however. "I did not know they were involved," he stated calmly after his sudden outburst.  _Very admirable_ , John had to admit. Bot was on a roll today.

"Fucking fantastic," John muttered, resisting the urge to glower. On the ride over Dorian had said — _actually goddamn said_ — "If you keep making that face, John, your features are going to freeze that way." Working with Dorian had been challenging enough  _before_ he'd begun dropping motherly hyperboles.

Maldonado peered through her glasses at them with suppressed vexation, but John could read her nervousness in the twisting of her fingers and the constant fiddling with her tablet. She was plainly just as ruffled by the news as they were; probably considerably more anxious as she was the superintendent. If he or Dorian had fucked anything up it would reflect badly on her.

"Several agents will be here in the morning, lead by an-" she snuck a surreptitious peek at her tablet- "Audrey Hanson. They'll want to examine the crime scene, obviously, to correlate it with the evidence they already have. Confirm it's the same guy they've been chasing. And they'll want to be informed of everything you've just told me. You-" she looked pointedly at John "-will be polite. Don't take their inquiries personally. They've been working on this case long before you two got your hands on it.

"Now," she continued before John could interject, "did you check Karina's phone records?"

"Of course," John gritted, offended, "but it was new. The only people she was in contact with since purchasing it were her parents."

"Literally," Dorian added. "Following the incident at the university she seems to have severed contact with all of her friends and peers. We're going to have to ask around. See who she was close with before her death."

Maldonado frowned. "Have you tracked down her former roommate?"

"No. We're still working on that. Hopefully we'll be able to speak with her sometime tomorrow. Maybe get the dean of the university to allow us access to her files. It's bound to be difficult. Getting anything outta that guy is like pulling teeth… with no anesthetic to ease the way." John could feel a pressure headache building. "He won't exactly be able to refuse the FBI though."

"You know him?" Dorian asked curiously

"A bit," he admitted unwillingly.

"Alright then," Maldonado interrupted before they got into it, "go pick a team for tomorrow, just in case. And keep me posted." Always the constant reminder, as if it was John's life mission to keep her out of the loop. "I'll set up a video chat with the parents. Incident room in about thirty minutes, got it?"

John resisted his immediate inclination to tip a fake fedora at her as he and Dorian left the office and say: "right you are, boss" in a thick Brooklyn accent. Because in spite of his near-constant whining, he absolutely loved his job.

**ooo**

After choosing three potential detectives, John and Dorian retired to the incident room with five minutes to spare. Maldonado had informed them very seriously that, beyond contacting Bianca Karina's parents, they weren't allowed to touch the case unless the FBI gave them the green light.

Aside from a plastic container that was set on the table (filled to the brim with clear evidence bags) the room was mercifully empty when they got there. Someone had clearly been preparing it for the case.

There was a large monitor on the wall which currently displayed images of Bianca Karina. One was a selfie taken from who knew where. In it she was smiling hugely and warmly. She had been very beautiful and well-groomed. The sun appeared to gleam off her skin. Naturally thick, dark lashes framed large blue eyes. Life sparkled fiercely in them. Bright and billions of light years removed from the cold, glassy sheen of death. Surrounded as it was by gruesome shots taken from the crime scene, the picture was mildly upsetting.

John pulled out one of the many chairs at the huge table in the center of the room and took a seat. He flipped open the laptop he'd been carrying and turned it on, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table. Dorian closed the automated blinds, cloaking them in darkness for a moment until the fluorescent lights blinked on. Quite a sorry replacement for natural sunlight.

While the computer loaded John forced himself to look at each picture of Bianca individually; familiarizing himself with them all. His lunch, a quick chocolate doughnut he'd snatched from the lounge, churned unpleasantly in his stomach. With the gory images of her death literally staring him in the face, John felt sickeningly glad that this case might be taken out of their hands. Hoped suddenly and forcefully that it would be. He didn't speak the wish aloud, not even to Dorian.

He found the new contact Maldonado had created and hovered the arrow over it reluctantly. It was time to get in touch with them, prolonging it would only make it worse. Dorian settled into the chair beside John and nodded that he was ready. "Waiting isn't going to make this any easier," he said, echoing John's thoughts with solemnity.

They usually preferred doing this part face-to-face, but it wouldn't be possible this time. Telling families that their child had been murdered held a special kind of agony. It was an onerous, tense task that required them to simultaneously inform, comfort and (above all)  _watch_. Cruelly gauge the loved ones reactions for any vague note of insincerity; any uncomfortable twitch or shift of the eyes that implied a guilty conscience. That was, of course, the reason why they would tell the family themselves instead of leaving the unpleasantness for the local authorities to handle.

Exhaling a long stream of air from between his teeth, John issued the video-call. It was answered almost instantly, a softly lit view of a charming living room blooming out of the dark screen. The middle-aged couple who came into view couldn't be anyone other than Bianca's parents. They were holding hands on the couch.

The woman's blonde hair was threaded with silver and her skin held a slight golden tone from the sun. She wore no make-up and John recognized Bianca's strong bone structure. Bianca had taken more after her father, however. They shared the same cinnamon skin, inky hair and blue eyes. Both the Karina's were beginning to go to seed, slightly overweight. John wondered if this had simply been a natural progression or if they'd become depressed lately.

Their house, he noted quickly, looked heartrendingly like something straight out of a Country Living magazine; so pretty it could have passed as satirical. Lots of bright open space, white and blue checked patterns, lacy curtains, and hickory furniture. Everything looked comfortably homey. Too much so. Having lived in the city his entire life it made John's skin itch with a conflicting mixture of desire and irritation. Dorian eyed everything in their sight with a kind of indecent wonder before snapping back to the matter at hand.

He had no idea how much information they had received from Maldonado, but Mrs. Karina already looked shaken and misty-eyed. Mr. Karina, in contrast, seemed supremely tense and angry, like a tightly coiled spring ready to release violently at the slightest provocation. His jaw was clenched so hard that John was astonished his teeth didn't crack under the pressure. Those blue eyes, so closely identical to Bianca's, glared heavily at them through the screen. Maybe it was a good thing they weren't in the same room after all, John could feel his own hackles rising in response.

John held up his badge, feeling like an unrepentant asshole. "I'm detective Kennex and this is detective Dorian. We have some news concerning your daughter, Bianca." The words were bitter on his tongue.

"She killed herself," Mrs. Karina stated dully, before either he or Dorian could continue. Her pale green eyes were glazing over with unshed tears.

John felt Dorian determinedly not looking at him, but a shared spark of surprised unease shot between them. "Well, no, ma'am," he said, inwardly wincing at his choice of noun. "We won't know for certain until the autopsy, but at the moment it looks as though she was murdered."

They both stared at him uncomprehending for a bit, metabolizing his words and reprocessing everything they thought they'd known. The tension was broken when Mr. Karina's face contorted into a snarl . He shot to his feet so suddenly that he was a blur, ripping his hands free from his wife's. Only his torso and thighs remained in the frame, pacing back-and-forth with a restless, riled energy. " _Jesusfuckingchrist!"_  he swore furiously under his breath.

"Mr. Karina, please, sit down," John barked, ire building. He wanted to reach across the country and shake him.

The man, to his surprise, stopped pacing instantly, body hovering uncertainly. After a slight pause he sat down with an automatic, unthinking plop that reminded John of an MX. "Do you have any suspects?" he demanded in a voice shaky with anger. His eyes were two burning, blue holes in his drawn face. He looked demented, like something that belonged in a dark, forgotten fairytale; not the world of reality they inhabited. John leaned back in his seat automatically, but didn't glance away. The only thing that would accomplish was putting him eye-to-eye with the man's dead daughter.

Mrs. Karina hadn't reacted at all, not even at her husband's outburst. She blinked slowly, mouth slightly open. Grief had already begun transforming her features. The crow's feet around her eyes and the nasal lines around her mouth appeared to deepen with every passing second. Her husband took her hands once more, holding them tight. and with unexpected gentleness. He was still trembling with rage. "Have you arrested anyone?"

John couldn't answer. He'd been profoundly, absurdly shocked by Mr. Karina's volatile reaction. His heart was still pounding with anxiety and it felt like he had cement lodged in his throat. Dorian seemed to recognize this and smoothly took over.

"I'm sorry, but we don't have any suspects just yet," he lied. Mercifully the man shifted those damned eyes to Dorian instead. "We do need one or both of you to come out tomorrow and view the body."

John didn't notice he was jiggling his leg until Dorian gripped his knee cap firmly under the table. He shook off the hand off with an apologetic twitch and ceased the motion, forcing himself to relax. Sweat was building on his upper lip.

"When did you find her?" Mr. Karina asked, voice taut as a rubber band. Mrs. Karina's eyes gave a flicker of life at the question. "When did it... happen?"

"Early this morning," Dorian said, though they wouldn't "officially" know that until the autopsy report came back. "We can't give you any further details as we don't know them yet ourselves. We'll discuss this more fully when we see you in person."

Mr. Karina looked like he wanted to argue the point, demand answers. John was totally with him. He wanted an excuse to pry; seek out a petty revenge for the scare the man had given him.

 _So, David. Why did you and your wife jump automatically to suicide, huh? Did you want Bianca's death to look like one?_ It would have been absurd as Dorian had already uncovered an alleged suicide attempt in her history, but it would've been sweet to see the look of horror on their faces at the line of inquiry.

Despite his unexpected vengefulness he stayed quiet, trying to look grimly professional as Dorian worked out a shuttle time for them the next morning. No one lost their tempers again, or burst into horrified tears. Just silent, dour resolve as they tried to cooperate fully, trying to hold themselves together until they were alone. Perhaps Mr. Karina had realized that he hadn't made a very good first impression.

Finally they gave an awkward goodbye and the screen went black again. John had a sudden stark mental image of them holding each other in their arms and sobbing. Shame replaced his anger like an all-consuming tidal wave, so strong he felt sick with it.

Dorian closed the laptop with a final snap and stood. The blinds opened, flooding the room with light. People strode up and down the hallway, talking with heads bent close together or laughing raucously about whatever. All were caught up in their own cases, or personal problems and triumphs. Blissfully unaware of the somber tone in Incident Room 07.

"Was it really necessary to close those in the first place?" John grumbled weakly, voice containing none of its usual faux derision.

Dorian shrugged noncommittally. "You okay, man?"

"Yeah, of course." He got up and clapped Dorian's shoulder while steadfastly refusing to meet his eyes. "Let's tell Maldonado we're all done." John sounded so falsely cheery that he wanted to punch himself.

Dorian pursed his lips and looked at him like he was a lunatic. John prayed silently that he'd just drop it. Let it rest and not offer to help sort out the apparently dissolving state of his psyche.

Eventually Dorian sighed. "We better update her or she's going to relegate us to stolen cars and unpaid parking tickets from here on out." Dorian offered up an uncertain smile and John accepted it gratefully.

**ooo**

It wasn't until after seven o'clock that evening that everything had been cautiously set for the following day; assuming they were allowed to continue the investigation. It was chilly and sprinkling. For a minute or more John stood on the sidewalk outside the precinct after Rudy had picked up Dorian. He breathed deeply of the brisk dusk air, holding one of his palms flat out to the sky. He watched with disquiet as it filled with a tiny pool of water. He upended it to the sidewalk and rocked exhaustedly on his feet for a second before treading to his car. He had to insistently flick the clinging droplets from his fingertips before fumbling out his keys. A feeling of displeasure and just general  _weirdness_ enveloped him as clambered into his car.

 _Something is seriously wrong with me_ , he thought despairingly as he drove to the Koln Avenue District, clenching his steering wheel way too tightly.  _I'm fucked up, so fucked up. How the hell did this happen?_ He realized as he was stopped at a red light that he was genuinely afraid.

**ooo**

By the time John had ordered his customary ramen from his favorite street vendor, night had fallen like a black diamond-strewn veil across the sky. He planted his ass firmly at a plastic table well under an overhang and watched the increasingly heavy rainfall warily before digging into his food. It was the first hot meal he'd eaten all day.

The broth was so hot it burned his mouth, but he didn't care, hardly tasted his food. He ate it in a bleary pre-programmed manner that one develops only after years of ramen-eating experience.

Then seemingly out of random something cut decisively through his fog of self-doubt and dejection. Abruptly he was hyper aware of his surroundings. The sounds (cars, people, music) seemed louder, the colors brighter and deeper than before. The ramen was a salt block against his tongue, burns smarting sharply. The hairs on the back of his neck rose

His eyes searched furtively for the source of his paranoia, checking out passersby and fellow diners then instantly discarding them as the origin of this unanticipated chaos.

Everything snapped into focus like a perfectly calibrated picture when his eyes landed on a food vendor several yards distant. The one where he himself always ordered ramen. A man was standing in the short line, shifting restlessly from foot-to-foot. John's eyes were drawn to him strongly and inexplicably. The man seemed to sense his gaze and tilted his head to the side, shoulders twisting in John's direction; caught him staring.

John grinned embarrassedly and looked down, focusing on the dregs of his ramen. Stray noodles too small to catch on the tines of his fork swimming in a puddle of lukewarm broth. Out of his peripheral he saw the man abandon the dwindling line and begin walking towards his table. His heart leaped in his chest and he swallowed convulsively. Anticipation prickled pleasantly on his skin.

Deciding that playing coy would be exceedingly childish, John gathered his bravery and brought his head up, watching the man's approach openly. John drank in the dark shock of dark hair and chiseled, pale features with acute yearning. The man was taller than he'd looked slumped in line and almost achingly handsome. Brown eyes, too.  _Soulful_ , even. He was dressed casually in jeans and a pair of (holy shit) Converse All-Stars. John hadn't seen a pair of those in years.

Nostalgia, a brief flash of precious memory—

_short legs pumping hard, sneakers thumping on the grass, staining the white parts green. His father's voice ringing out behind him, pretending to be too slow to catch up with John in spite of his much longer stride. Their bright laughter ringing shrilly in the deserted park_

_—_ gone in an instant.

Then the man was standing before him, hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, biting his lower lip shyly and meeting John's eyes. They were a deep chocolate-brown that had John melting into his seat. His troubles over the last few months evaporated like so much meaningless fog.

"Hi," John said softly, the primordial greeting. The man's shyness was his confidence's gain. "Wanna sit down?"

"Yes," the man answered breathlessly. Though seemingly overtly diffident, his gaze was quite direct. The restrained eagerness on his face as he looked at John lit a low flame of desire in his belly.

John honestly could hardly remember the last time he'd been with a guy. Some hazy college night that he'd been too drunk to recall with any real clarity. Fumbling hands, awkward giggles in-between wet kisses; sloppy and heated. Vague. Unimportant.

All he really knew was that the day afterwards he'd successfully nabbed a date with Belle Something-Or-Other; a girl with bleached hair and voluptuous breasts. He'd banished his non-heterosexual proclivities into a dark, forbidden corner.

They all came rushing back to him in the form of a sensual quirk of lips and a deep, soothing voice. "I'm Gabriel Gray," the young man informed him, sticking out a hand (large and warm) to shake. Several days worth of stubble coated his face, but it looked wildly attractive on him.

"John Kennex," he returned smoothly with a detective's polished ease. Before he had a chance to strike up a conversation (that would hopefully lead to something else) Gabriel shivered.

"Hey, it's kinda cold. Do you wanna go somewhere and get a coffee?" He looked hopeful… and genuinely cold. Still, it sounded like something he'd filched from a classic rom-com. Did people still ask each other out for  _coffee_?

John, instead of being a smartass about it, shut off his perpetual flow of sarcasm and gestured at his ramen cup. "This didn't really do it for me. How about dinner?" he asked, not wanting that sweet, tentative smile to disappear.


End file.
